


Midnight Run

by jammeke



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammeke/pseuds/jammeke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eoin and Bradley are midnight jogging. Or something like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Run

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [Eoin's Tweet](http://wholove.tumblr.com/post/40803459636)

So apparently, texting with your hands behind your head is a difficulty bordering on an impossibility. Who knew? He almost calls Bradley over to be a good mate and help him out, except his friend is making starry eyes at the football he found lying around, and Eoin’s never been one to get in the way of young love. Youngish. The football looks like it’s been around longer than Bradley has. Maybe there are authority figure-related consent issues to be considered here.

The thought is enough to make him raise himself up onto his elbows. Huh. The world is doing that spinning thing again. That’s just not fair. It’s been doing that all evening, only stopping when he closes his eyes and lies still. Obviously the universe is out to get him flat on his back tonight, which, all right, fair enough, but not when he’s trying to help out a friend and text people and generally try not to feel like he’s going to puke out his guts any minute now.

“You should have stopped after the seventh one,” someone says with Bradley’s voice.

He tries his best to glower in the general direction of the speaker. “I’m a knight of Camelot. I don’t stop. Certainly not for a harmless beer. Or nine. First rule of the knights’ code, mate.”

“Sure.” Bradley’s playing around with the football now, and Eoin thinks that’s a bit harsh, considering the heart eyes he was making at it earlier. Way to play around with someone’s heart. Something’s. Then there’s the fact that every kick feels like a kick to Eoin’s head and, all right, maybe Bradley had a point when he said that thing about stopping after—how many beers?

His phone buzzes in his hand. He blinks and looks down. “It’s Tom. He wants to know where we are.”

“We’re in the park.” Bradley makes it sound like a very logical response. Eoin’s all for logic right now, and texts the answer to Ade. 

The phone buzzes again ten seconds later. “Ade wants to know what the heck I just woke him up for and also which park we’re in and what we’re doing.”

“What?” 

“Yeah. What do I tell him?” 

“Midnight jog.” Bradley sounds distracted. He’s trying to hold the ball up in the air now. Making a pretty admirable effort too. 

Eoin flops onto his back again. “Yeah. Okay.” He’s just about to text Tom when he remembers he's supposed to be texting Ade, only Tom asked him a fair question too and is he supposed to text both of them now? Oh, what the heck. He might as well let the entire world know what they’re doing. Saves him the trouble of selecting two numbers. 

He’s almost finished putting the message together when something hits him in the stomach. “Oi.”

“Sorry.” Bradley doesn’t sound sorry. He’s grinning. Bastard.

To retaliate, Eoin tags him before posting the tweet. Ha! Who’s the bastard now? He throws the ball back at Bradley, aiming for his head, so of course the ball sails wide. Bradley jogs after it, looking awfully energetic for a guy who’s supposed to be drunk. They were supposed to be drowning their sorrows tonight. And okay, maybe Bradley doesn’t think he has any sorrows to drown, but Eoin thinks he does. The fangirls most certainly do. They want to see him in something else, and who can blame them? An actor without work is precisely that: an actor without work. 

He checks his phone. People are retweeting the message already. Don’t they have lives? He reads some of the responses. Frowns. “Why didn’t we bring Colin?”

“What?” Bradley’s expression is priceless and Eoin wants to frame it and sell it on e-bay. 

He waves his phone at him. “Well. Why didn’t we?” 

“Err.”

“That,” Eoin says, “sounds like a brilliant response.” He’s just about to use it to answer the question when Bradley snags his phone from his hand.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one night.”

Eoin makes a mournful sound and reaches for his phone, but Bradley’s already out of reach, grinning at him like the bastard Eoin knows he is. He gives him the finger. And again, because it was the wrong one. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

Eoin says something that’s supposed to sound like “meh” but comes out as “nnng” instead. 

That's all right, though. He trusts Bradley to get the gist of it.


End file.
